


Tree

by piratemistress



Series: Pearls [7]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End (2007), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-10
Updated: 2007-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratemistress/pseuds/piratemistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In present-day Port Royal and Singapore long past, trades and bargains abound as Jack and Elizabeth find unlikely, even strange allies in pursuit of their goals... but every bargain has its price, and every boon its sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
_Pearl of the green tree, the sustainer of life, giver of shade and food even to your enemy, may we absorb your magic, your virtue, your energy and spirit, and your strength. Roots buried in dark soil, leaves spread to sunlight, give us the wisdom to see and think, to grow strong and achieve our balance.  
  
  
_ Jack Sparrow waited beneath a banana tree as the last rays of the setting sun bathed the gravestones, the old church, and the road beyond in a warm glow. The Port Royal sunset cast a nostalgic, hopeful light over everything, and Jack took this in from his place in the shadows. He couldn't decide whether to embrace it... _yes, beauty and hope, life..._ or shut it out, reminding himself this was goodbye.  
  
He chuckled to himself even as he thought it; what had become of him? What was he even doing there? He ought to be on deck, feeling the salt spray on his face as they chased the setting sun. Well, he would, he reminded himself, just... later. And alone. He sighed, frowning. It had never bothered him in the least, before, that he sailed off alone. It was what he always wanted.   
  
Distractedly, he ran his palm up the trunk of the banana tree, and one of the wide, flat leaves almost seemed to answer, dipping with the breeze to brush his face. Funny thing, the banana tree. Back in Singapore Queenie had told him once about the legend of the sacred pearls, while examining his own strand of pearls... she told him of the pearl that could be found in the bamboo stem, and even one in the trunk of the banana tree. The banana tree pearl was oblong and smooth; on its end it seemed an ivory tear, on its side a winking eye. It lacked the lustre of an oyster pearl or one of the more prized ones, and yet its beauty was simple. Jack eyed the green fruit hanging above his head. He supposed it was a trade. The banana tree would produce no gem of great value, and yet it also gave its fruit. Nourishment was a gift, too, precious in its way. A trade. Thinking it over, Jack concluded that it only supported his belief that everything in life was a trade, a bargain of sorts.   
  
The sun was sinking, and around him, night was approaching. He noted the small quickening of his pulse, the tickle of anticipation inside his chest, and would have chuckled at that, too, had it not frightened him a little. He asked himself if he was anticipating her arrival... or worried that she wouldn't come.  
  
He smiled, looking down at the grass as he took a few meandering steps. Of course she'd come. It was she who'd insisted on a proper goodbye, after all. Goodbyes were so awfully important to women, it seemed. She knew they had to set sail, and hopefully before the Navy frigate they'd been eluding made port... he promised her one more day after which he would sail with the evening tide. She had asked him to come ashore, to meet her - only for a few minutes, a leave-taking - behind the old church, now fallen into disrepair, down the road from the governor's house.   
  
He looked up at the small, simple stone building, left from the days of the Spanish in Port Royal. Its roof was missing tiles, the windows broken and shutters unhinged. He wove his way between gravestones and approached a set of wooden doors at the side of the church. He glanced around - no one in sight - and pushed open one of the doors, which creaked horribly in protest as Jack poked his head inside, looking about. Somewhere a rat scurried off into the darkness; Jack slipped inside and saw that the last vestiges of sunlight filtered through the broken windows and cast a bit of light over the wood and cobwebs inside. He meandered toward the altar - anything of value had been looted years ago, he saw, trailing his fingers over wooden surfaces, thinking.  
  
She would come; she would find him here, wandering in circles near a derelict altar, not to join him, but to sever herself from him, likely forever. He smiled at the irony of that, too: an anti-wedding, if there ever was one. Suited them. Their conversation would no doubt be stilted and awkward - Jack avoided goodbyes for a reason - and she'd no doubt remind him that she'd always maintained she loved the whelp, always intended to marry Will as she'd always dreamed. Jack would smile and shrug and shake it off, as he'd done before, convincing himself and her as well that he'd never imagined it any other way. Even if...  
  
It had just been a taste. A taste to last forever, for both of them. And it _was_ better, to have tasted, than never to have known. Wasn't it?  
  
She would be nervous, hurried, concerned she'd be discovered to be out... her lips would pout and require moistening... she'd be a little out of breath from the dash down the road, but she'd be there with him anyway, because she couldn't help herself. Jack grinned. That _was_ the best part. She had mostly noble, honorable intentions, that one, but she lacked the milquetoast personality and banal, laissez-faire attitude in life that best suited such honest intentions. He'd dispatched them forthwith.  
  
And in for a penny, in for a pound, Jack thought as he glanced around the remains of pews and benches, neatly secluded in this soon-to-be-dark ruin of a church... perhaps he'd diffuse the awkwardness of their goodbye by making her forget whatever pretty speech she had planned, dispense with the sorrowful adieus and instead make their last meeting one to remember... against the cool stone of the wall, perhaps, since they hadn't tried it like that yet. Deep in the shadows. A little harder this time, or a lot harder, enough to scare her a little, or just to remind her she was fucking a pirate, for God's sake. He'd had to be so awfully gentle the first few times... she ought to know what it was like when he didn't restrain himself... Not so much it hurt, though knowing _her_ , she'd probably like it, at least a little. Or she could ride him into oblivion as he sat on the floor underneath the broken window... or he could lay her across one of the old pews... even as he imagined it, he hastily began clearing one of an inch-thick layer of dust with his hands, soon stopping to gaze with distaste at the black coating of dirt on his now-black fingertips. He'd get her dirty...  
  
Suddenly he heard soft footfalls from outside. Another smile crept across his face, but he kept his back to the door as he heard it creak open, saying, “Elizabeth, you're a bit late, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to compensate for your lack of punctuality...”  
  
He turned.  
  
  
* * *  
  
“Elizabeth, standing and staring plainly out of the parlor window's a bit... unbecoming, wouldn't you say?”  
  
Her father was gently chiding her, but she barely heard him. She was watching the sun set; as if by watching it, she could will it to sink faster. Only under the cover of twilight or dark could she make her escape, however temporary.  
  
She felt her father's hand on her shoulder. “Come now, I know you're disappointed he didn't call as he said he would, but he _is_ a hard-working young man, and in a few days you won't have to be parted at all, hm?”  
  
She feigned a smile; her father thought she was pining after Will, who had indeed promised a visit today in the early evening, but failed to appear. That fact caused her no more than mild concern; what lay ahead tonight concerned her far more.  
  
Tonight she would take her leave of Jack. Not only that, but she would do it by creeping like a thief from her own house, disguised, in the dark. Again. The consequences of discovery were costly, indeed. And yet, it was a risk she had to take. She excused it by telling herself it was done with; after tonight, she'd be free to give herself completely to her husband, to a life of loving him. She would give herself totally to Will.  
  
Whatever was left of her.  
  
“I'm not feeling terribly well,” she told her father. “Think I'll retire early.”  
  
“Oh? Are you all right?” Her father was genuinely worried, his brows knitted. She eased her own pang of guilt and his concern with a small smile.  
  
“Fine, Papa,” she said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just an unsettled stomach, nothing to worry about.” He smiled as she walked past him, heading for the staircase.  
  
“Rest well, then,” her father replied. “You should know I've asked for a small patrol hereabouts; seems a footman sighted a strange man lurking about every so often over the past few days. But rest assured, a few good soldiers shall be looking out for us after dark, hm?”  
  
Elizabeth froze where she stood on the staircase, her hand on the railing. _A patrol... a strange man_. She closed her eyes. Oh, what fools they'd been... how reckless. Now she could only hope... “Thank you,” she said, “good night.”  
  
She forced herself to climb the steps calmly until she reached the stop, though every muscle strained with the effort; she crossed the hallway, opened the bedroom door and shut it behind her. Her fingers found the key and she turned it in the lock. Her father had made sure all their bedroom doors locked after her abduction the year before; however crude the lock, in case of intruders, it might afford them time to escape.  
  
_Time to escape, indeed_ , Elizabeth thought as her restraint evaporated and she dashed across the room, frantically yanking at the buttons in the back of her dress. In record time she was out of the dress and her underclothing, practically leaping into breeches and a shirt that she'd hidden away, clawing under the bed for boots and smoothing her hair away from her face in a queue, tying it impatiently with a bit of cord.  
  
The sun was set; the twilight cast a rich violent hue over the drive and garden as she peered out from the balcony. She gripped the railing with her hands, looking to see no one was about. She would only be gone a few minutes, she told herself, worried that her father might knock, needing to tell her something, or bringing her something to help her upset stomach, God forbid... her heart began to pound as she looked down from the balcony, identifying the hand and foot-holds Jack must have used a few days before, that she herself had used two nights ago. But that was in the dead of night, when no one was stirring at all...  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. It was now or never. Yet all the possibilities that could lead to ruin swarmed through her mind, reminding her how completely foolish the whole idea was. She desperately wanted to see Jack, but she was afraid, and rightly so... if she were caught, it was the end of all.  
  
_Even courageous men are afraid_ , she told herself, thinking back to her battles. _They go on in spite of it, and do what must be done._ With a last look to see that no one was in the garden or drive, she swung her leg over the railing and climbed down, unnoticed but not invisible in the dimming twilight.  
  
She scaled the gate easily with the aid of a tree by the side wall, and dropped cat-like to her feet on the road. She sighed. She had escaped the grounds of her home. That was half the battle... getting back would be the other half. But all that would be _after_ she saw Jack... a nervous thrill coursed through her, and she stifled a grin as she turned in the direction that would take her toward the old church and graveyard. It would be all right. She'd walked dangerous lines before, and always come out on top.  
  
As she turned, she saw movement in the distance out of the corner of her eye. Her heart skipped a beat; she flattened herself against the garden wall in the shadows, peering along the road back toward town. Someone was walking along the road. Jack wouldn't be so careless... she stared at the figure, realizing the long-legged stride was familiar.  
  
_Bugger_ , she thought, biting her lip at the word. It was Will.  
  
He had promised to call on her today, and though it was quite late, he was on his way to see her. _Damn, damn, damn_. She loved him so very much, and he would make a wonderful husband, she was sure; but his sense of timing was deplorable.  
  
Elizabeth was faced with a choice. She could scramble back over the wall, scale the trellis beneath her balcony, shed her boy clothes and kick them under the bed in haste, likely donning her dressing gown just as her father would knock, saying, _I know it's quite late, but the dear boy came all this way... suppose there's no harm in a short chat in the parlor.  
  
_ Or she could run.  
  
The second idea, wild and careless as it was, swelled before her like a full sail. She could run, she could run to Jack and leave the rest behind.  
  
It would mean, of course, that she could never come back. What would Jack say? What would he do, if she met him and told him she was going along? They'd never discussed anything of the kind... or had they?  
  
She'd told him she was marrying Will, no matter what. That her pirating days were over. _That_ way led happiness. And he'd never argued.  
  
The figure drew closer in the fading light, and Elizabeth despaired. Jack would not understand why she hadn't come, and the _Pearl_ had to sail tonight, before the Navy ships made port. Things would be quite perilous for pirates after that... and her father could be of no help to them, as his power was limited and he could never openly side with pirates and retain the governorship.  
  
Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she realized she was forced to cruelly part with one of the two men she loved. Not that she loved Jack, exactly... she closed her eyes. No, surely not. That was madness. But everything had its price, she supposed. Her price for keeping Will, for her future happiness, was leaving Jack to wonder if he'd imagined everything they'd shared... a dreadful bargain, but the only one she could live with, at the moment. _Goodbye, Jack... I'm sorry_. _Honestly sorry. Not that you'll ever know.  
  
_ With a leaden heart she turned, reaching her hands for the top of the wall, pulling herself up, the first step in going back over the wall and back inside the house. She had never felt so heavy in all her life.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Jack stared in bewilderment at the two bayonet-fixed rifles aimed squarely in his direction, wielded by two idiots in red uniforms who Jack was certain he'd encountered before.  
  
“Halt!” said one of them, imperiously, though Jack definitely hadn't moved. “Who goes there?”  
  
The voice rang a bell for Jack. Ah, yes. The idiots _were_ familiar. Not that it mattered; he was at a considerable disadvantage, being trapped inside a building without any weapons drawn or any means of escape close at hand. Save for his wits. In that manner, he suspected he had them largely outgunned, and yet, they had _actual_ guns.  
  
“I'm not 'going' anywhere,” Jack said calmly, allowing his fingers to drift idly over the hilt of his cutlass. “Just a friendly citizen out for a stroll.”  
  
“He's not no citizen,” the man's companion replied. “Look at 'im. He's a pirate, he is.”  
  
“If you're a citizen, what are ye doing in this old church?” said the first man.  
  
“Praying,” Jack answered.   
  
“Then why aren't ye kneeling?” said the second man.  
  
“Why... as it happens, I've just finished. So... I'll be on my way, eh?” Jack said with a smile and a wave of his palm. He marched confidently toward the two men, who glanced nervously at each other and seemed about to let him pass between them, headed for the door, when one lowered his bayonet right across Jack's chest. Jack stopped; eyed him sidelong. “Would seem mighty impious to be threatening a man in a house of God, wouldn't it?”  
  
“What did he call me?” the man said to his companion.  
  
“'e said you were impervious.”  
  
“That's not good, is it?”  
  
“Gentlemen,” Jack said, extending his hands placatingly, “if you'll simply stand aside, I'll be on my way, and leave you to your discussion.”  
  
“Not so fast,” said the other one, approaching, and in a flash shoved up Jack's sleeve. “There, see? Pirate. Just like the gov'nor said - dangerous men about.”  
  
“The governor, eh?” Jack said, estimating the distance between where they stood and the door; about ten feet. Too far.   
  
“Oh, yes,” said the other one, poking the tip of his bayonet into Jack's back. “He asked for a patrol on this road, being as there were strange men sighted.”  
  
“March,” said the second man. “We're taking you to the Lieutenant. End of the road for you, _pirate_.”  
  
Jack grimaced as he numbered his options; his chances of escape were almost nil inside the church, with their weapons pointed at him. He'd cooperate, for the moment... perhaps he'd try something once they got on the road... though it wasn't far to town, and once there, soldiers abounded. He began to think, rapid-fire, as the second man gave him a push on the shoulder. Once outside... perhaps Elizabeth would be waiting, and between the two of them they could overpower the dolts. She was smart... she would think of something. She'd help him. As he exited the church, shoved impatiently by the tip of the soldier's bayonet, he noticed it was full dark. He scanned the shadows hopefully.  
  
There was no sign of Elizabeth.   
  
It was that, more than surprise or disgust at his rotten turn of luck, that slowed his feet and made him walk numbly down the road in near-resignation, flanked by the two soldiers.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Elizabeth served herself breakfast from the silver trays in the corner of the dining room, eyeing the food with distaste. She was certain she wouldn't be able to eat much, if anything. She hadn't even wanted to get out of bed earlier. She had feigned sleep until far too late in the morning, knowing the _Pearl_ had sailed, knowing she would likely never see Jack again. She'd made the only choice she could; arrived in her room just in time, changed, been called for, gone down, sat with Will in the parlor. He'd taken her hand, warmly, and it would have made her shiver except for the sadness weighing her down and holding her still.  
  
Her father walked in as she was staring at her breakfast. “Elizabeth,” he said, failing to notice her somber mood, “there's been some news from Danslow. They've captured someone.”  
  
Her eyes flew up. “Who?”  
  
Governor Swann shook his head, slowly. “I told him very _clearly_ to be gone. You remember my saying that, when we disembarked? That I couldn't help him if he were caught, if he kept pirating in these waters? I told him - if he were found in Port Royal, no pleas would spare him from the hangman's noose.”  
  
Elizabeth's eyes went wide. “No.”  
  
Her father nodded, brows coming up in an expression of sympathy. “I'm sorry, my dear. I know you've befriended him, but there's nothing to be done.”  
  
She stood, her chair scraping on the floor. “Where?” She approached her father, her tone demanding. “Where did they arrest him?”  
  
“Why, it's the oddest thing,” the governor answered, turning as Danks brought him his coat. His arms were guided into the sleeves as he said, “Just down the road, the old church. Can't imagine what he was doing there - anything of value would have been gone long ago. Foolish of him, to go there.”  
  
_No_ , Elizabeth thought. _It can't be..._ “Where are you going?” she asked her father, trailing him into the parlor.  
  
“Down to the fort to see about this,” he replied, “although I really don't think there's anything that can be done.”  
  
“Wait,” she called after him as he strolled to the door. “May I go with you?” she said, but it wasn't really a question.  
  
The governor turned, frowned, noted the distraught expression on his daughter's face. He seemed to consider, finally softening after a moment. “Very well. Ready yourself in a hurry - the coach is being brought around.”  
  
Elizabeth ran for the staircase, not even bothering to call for a maid to fetch her things. It was awful, ghastly that Jack had been caught... and yet it meant he was still _here_ , still in Port Royal. He was in danger, yes, and she'd have to help him get out of it... she would never let them hang him.  
  
What it meant, what it _really_ meant, was that she had another chance.  
  
* * *  
  
She was only armed with a fan, as she was escorted to the jail by another soldier, but she felt ready to face whatever awaited. Her father was closed in the Lieutenant's office, discussing the business of the prisoner. She clutched her fan tighter. It was no sword, but she could make use of it if she had to.   
  
Women had made do with less. After all, a few days before there'd been a rumor that the baker's sister had foiled a bread thief by smashing an iron pot over his head. Anita was her name, and she'd been living in Port Royal for four years after her parents had died in Charleston. Elizabeth knew her reasonably well, as they were about the same age; they used to talk when Elizabeth would frequent the bakery, before the townspeople had begun to whisper and shake their heads over _the girl who was carried off by pirates_. When Elizabeth had heard the servants discussing the robbery and Anita's most unladylike bravado, she had smiled to herself and thought: _pirate_.  
  
Elizabeth had been a pirate, too; she could face this.  
  
The soldier stepped aside, standing with his back to the wall as she descended the steps to the jail. He stood out of sight. Elizabeth continued inside, swallowing nervously.  
  
The jail was dim even in the daytime; the light pouring through the barred windows was slight. She cautiously put one foot in front of the other as she peered into the empty cells. “Jack?” she called.  
  
There was no answer. She continued to the end of the row. He wasn't there. She turned and walked back toward the middle, certain she must have missed him.  
  
When she passed a middle cell, the shadows themselves seemed to jump and move; Jack glided from them, his eyes nearly burning with the intensity of his gaze. As he drew closer she saw they were bloodshot; likely he hadn't slept much the previous night. His clothing was disheveled - more disheveled than usual - and his scarf askew, his hair a tangled mess of beads and braids.  
  
“Well, well, well,” he said quietly, his voice low and ominous. “Suppose I should be honored by such a visit...” He approached the iron grate, still holding her eyes as she suddenly began to feel rooted to the floor. “And only about an _entire fucking day late_ ,” he finished, a bitter glint in his eyes.  
  
Her lips compressed briefly in response before she replied, “I'll thank you to have a care for your language in my presence.” Her heart had begun to pound; at the surprise, or his anger, she wasn't sure.  
  
“Oh, it's Miss High-an'-Mighty this morning, is it?” Jack said with a shake of his arms and chest. “Try it from _this_ side of the bars. Tell me, is it gratifying to see me here? Have you got me where you want me?”  
  
She sighed, realizing his belligerence masked a real wound, one she'd inflicted. _A calm answer turneth away wrath_ , she thought. “You _know_ that's not true.”  
  
“Do I?” Jack flattened his palms on the bars, looking down at her. She was right in front of her, and if it weren't for the grate, they were close enough to embrace. “I suppose I do,” he said in an almost seductive voice, but one that held dark undertones... he whispered, “Silly of me. I know damn well _where you want me_. The question is, do _you_?”  
  
_Everywhere_ , she thought, noting the sudden leap of tiny flames in his eyes. _Anywhere_. “Jack, I'm _sorry_.”  
  
“Where were you, hm?” he said so quietly it seemed almost unimportant. She was certain that was how he said important things; quietly, so that when he was hurt, he could pretend nothing had ever been said.  
  
“I was on my way to meet you,” she whispered, glancing right to make sure the guard was still out of earshot. “I was at the gate when I spotted Will coming up the road. I had to turn back.”  
  
“Ah,” Jack said, turning around, taking lazy, exaggerated steps. “Dear, dear, _dear_ Will. A charming lad, with an uncanny knack for turning up when you least expect him. Isn't that so?”  
  
“He keeps his word,” Elizabeth said in defense of her fiancé, staring at Jack's retreating back. “I owe him the same.”  
  
Jack turned to look at her over his shoulder, an eyebrow lifted, as if to say: _Really_? She knew it sounded silly, given that she'd already betrayed him, more than once, and enjoyed the hell out of herself in the process... at one look from Jack, she was ready to throw caution to the winds, again.  
  
“Don't suppose the governor will arrange a pardon for me like he did for Bootstrap? Then again, I'm not marrying you, so it's not as if the family name is in danger of being tarnished.”  
  
Elizabeth bristled at his sharp delivery of the latter, but minded her tongue. “He can only do so much.”  
  
“He ought to do _something_ , given that I've saved his life!” Jack snapped, heading for the bars again.  
  
Elizabeth furrowed her brows in confusion. “What do you mean? When?”  
  
Jack opened his mouth to speak. “I...” He frowned, faltering. “I know I have.”  
  
“What? When? You never told me. Neither did he.”  
  
Jack shook his head as though clearing it. “I don't know... perhaps it was a dream. But I had the oddest feeling, I just can't _remember_...” He stopped after a moment, finding her eyes again. “Regardless, if he can't get me out of this, I could use a little help in order to avoid a hanging.”  
  
He stood before her, thinking, one beard braid sliding through the valley of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. Elizabeth watched, rapt, remembering those browned hands on her breasts and belly... Jack's hands, everywhere on her... it had been unlike anything before, when he touched her in all the places she'd never been touched by a man. His palms were calloused and rough, but his touch skilled and adept, every movement controlled, exact. She was a puppet in his arms, one he was bringing to life with his touch...  
  
“Elizabeth?” he was saying quietly, inches from her face across the bars. She looked up and he was smiling at her, impishly, as though he knew what she had been thinking.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I asked if you thought borrowing a pair of wings and flying out the window was a reasonable escape plan, but you didn't answer.”  
  
“Oh, stop it,” she said, and he grinned, a real one this time. She leaned her forehead on the bars in dismay. “What are we going to do? Really?”  
  
“There are three avenues to every problem,” Jack answered, leaning forward to brush his lips against her hairline, very lightly. “Fight. Negotiate. Avoid.”  
  
“You mean, flee,” she said. “And what about 'delay'?”  
  
“Delaying's only avoiding in the short term.”  
  
“Well, we can't take the fort by storm.”  
  
“No. Fighting's out. The _Pearl_ 's sailed, I'm certain, as I ordered Gibbs to go during the night whether or not I returned. Not that I expected _not_ to.”  
  
“Don't think we can negotiate, either. We haven't got anything they want.”  
  
“Quite right. So that leaves fleeing. But for that, I'll need your assistance, I think. Are you up for a bit of piracy, Lizzie darling?”  
  
“Always,” she said with a smile, noting the light in his eyes had become warmer, less menacing.  
  
“I do so enjoy it when you turn pirate,” Jack whispered softly, low in his throat, and she closed her eyes in response to the small shudder that traveled through her body.  
  
_My God_ , she thought, her fingers curling around the grate for support. _He undoes me with a single look, a single word_...  
  
Jack's lips were on her fingers, brushing across her knuckles, and she squeezed her eyes tighter, flexing her fingertips. Soon he had caught her index finger between his lips, and he drew it inside his mouth, sucking gently, laving it with his tongue. His mouth was scalding hot and wet, and she felt every contour of his tongue and lips as he eagerly devoured her finger... he nibbled at it with his teeth, and she gasped, yanking her hand back.  
  
“Someone could see us,” she hissed, her heart pounding, her pulse racing.  
  
“Let them,” he almost growled. “Let them see their governor's daughter doing what she wants _most_.”  
  
“Not 'who'?” she said, smirking.  
  
“Should it be?”  
  
“At times, yes,” she breathed. “But... we must speak of how you're getting out of here.”  
  
Jack regarded her, reluctantly accepting the shift in topic. He turned away, then, lifting his arm to palm the locks at the back of his neck thoughtfully as he took a few steps around the cell. Finally he looked up. “We'll need Bootstrap. The rest of them have sailed.”  
  
“Need him? To what?”  
  
“To break me out of here.”  
  
“But I can...”  
  
“Elizabeth, you're the _governor's daughter_. As long as you're planning on staying respectable - in a manner of speaking - you can hardly assist in a jailbreak.”  
  
She acknowledged the last with a nod. “I'll tell Bootstrap.”  
  
“ _Not_ Will.”  
  
“But--”  
  
Jack had reached the bars again. “Not Will. Promise me. He'll try to stop it, or foul it up somehow - I just know it.”  
  
She stared at him. “So that's my bit of piracy? Pass a message to another pirate and keep my peace about it? That's _all_? You underestimate me, Jack.”  
  
Jack grinned. “Not at all. You've got a special task that I believe requires a woman's touch.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Oh, yes.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I'll be needing a pair of uniforms.”  
  
“A pair of... the _soldiers'_?” She sighed, her eyes darting back and forth as she thought. “That's going to be difficult.”  
  
Jack pursed his lips, smirking. “And yet I surmise you're up to the challenge... after all, you owe me a _little_ , don't you?”  
  
“What are you going to _do_ with them?”  
  
“Never mind that. Can you do it? By tomorrow?”  
  
She met his eyes, nodded once. “Yes.”  
  
“Good.” Jack smiled, trailing a finger over the grate. He turned, ready to stroll across the cell again.  
  
“On one condition.”  
  
Jack eyed her over his shoulder, suspiciously. “Condition?”  
  
Elizabeth smiled a knowing smile at him. “I do believe you owe me something, as well.”  
  
Jack looked guiltily to the side, and then down, before meeting her gaze again. He extended his hands in front of his chest, palm up in a pleading gesture. “Oh, that. I _am_ quite sorry about the hairbrush. It's a compulsion, you see, I really can't help it-“  
  
Elizabeth furrowed her brows in confusion. “No, Jack, I meant-“  
  
“-and then the blasted _monkey_ got hold of it back on the ship, and took it up to the crow's nest, and once he gets up there there's no getting him down without a pistol-“  
  
“Jack-“  
  
“-and you've got to be a _really_ good shot, because you can't kill him and so you've got to aim for the groin, you see-“  
  
“Jack!”  
  
“-long story short, it's at the bottom of the harbor, which is _not_ a useful place for a hairbrush, 'less you're planning on taking up residence down there.” He stopped, his hips cocked to the right. Breathed. “What did you say?”  
  
  
Elizabeth lifted her brows, bewildered. “I was talking about a story. Although _that_ story does explain my missing hairbrush.”  
  
Jack blinked. “Oh. _Oh_.” He grinned broadly, waving his hand. “Never mind, then. Forget everything I just said.”  
  
“I shall certainly try,” she said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you going to tell me the next story you promised or not?”  
  
Jack acquiesced with a tilt of his head, and clasped his hands loosely behind his back as he strolled toward the small window of his cell. “Funny that it should be this one... just as we were speaking of how to resolve things equitably.”  
  
“Oh?” Elizabeth watched as Jack paced, slowly, across the floor.  
  
“You see, I'd been avoiding the problem of getting out of Singapore,” he said thoughtfully, pinching a braid between thumb and forefinger and tugging on it. “But sooner or later, one must face one's problem.”  
  
“What did you do?” Elizabeth said, already captivated.  
  
Jack smiled. “I negotiated.”  
  
He began the tale.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, face buried deep between cushions in the opium den, dreamt of turquoise seas, of waters that parted before him like a eager woman's thighs; he longed to have no ties to anyone, and yet could not bring himself to truly sever any of the ones that had somehow formed during his years in Singapore.

  
Jack, facedown upon cushions in the opium den, dreamt of turquoise seas, of waters that parted before him like a eager woman's thighs; he longed to have no ties to anyone, and yet could not bring himself to truly sever any of the ones that had somehow formed during his years in Singapore.  
  
He had only smoked a little - today - but it was enough. Part of him believed that if he _thought_ enough, he'd come up with a solution to his dilemma, the lack of a ship, that didn't involve stealing one from someone who would exact its price on either or both women Jack was known to be associated with. Thinking only went so far; he lacked the funds to purchase one outright, and Queenie would probably come after him with something sharp if he even considered stealing the money from _her_ , if she even _had_ such coins... which Jack surmised she didn't. Even if he could accept such a thing from a woman who'd already given him too much.  
  
So when he gave up on thinking, he smoked, or slept. He dreamt of sailing, but day by day was no closer to the sea.   
  
One afternoon he was cruelly torn from his reverie by having a cushion snatched from under him, and soundly smacked across the side of his head.  
  
“Ow,” he said, his head snapping back, “what thrice-damned devil are you, disturbing my rest?”  
  
Gibbs glared down at him, wielding the cushion like a shield. “Aye, a devil I may be, Jack Sparrow, but if ye rested any more...” He eyed Jack's condition with distaste. “...ye'd be dead.”  
  
Jack rolled his eyes, turning onto his back. “Oh, it's you. Thought I told you to leave me be, less'n you had a ship.” He lifted his head with effort, peering at Gibbs through spread fingers. “Haven't got one, have you?”  
  
“Well, no...”  
  
“Good day, then, friend - I salute you,” Jack said, touching his fingers briefly to his temple before dropping his head back to the floor, closing his eyes.  
  
“Jack, I might have a way fer us to _get_ a ship,” Gibbs said.  
  
Jack opened one eye. “Aye?”  
  
“Aye. Be ye warned: it involves a great deal o' rumor, speculation and some acts that might not be entirely _natural_ , as they say.”  
  
Jack's other eye popped open, and he grinned. “Sounds like it's my speciality,” he said, turning his eyes to Gibbs. “Do tell.”  
  
  
* * *  
  
Jack and Gibbs made their way along the street that led to the abandoned temple; Jack ran his fingers along the edge of his cutlass, and Gibbs stroked his sideburns nervously. The pearls slid about in Jack's coin purse; their sound, their feel was odd, as he'd left them safely hidden at Chao Quin's for seven years, until tonight.  
  
“You're sure about this hourglass trinket?” Jack asked.  
  
“As sure as me dam were a doxy,” Gibbs replied, and Jack frowned.  
  
“... _Was_ your mum a doxy?”  
  
“I'll thank ye not to speak ill o' me mum!” he snapped, pausing in his step for a moment.  
  
Jack flexed his fingers thoughtfully. “So... the man who gave it up said it would lead you to someone of importance.”  
  
“Aye, this chap who fancies himself a negotiator of sorts. Sounds like a green-bag to me.”  
  
“And yet, not too much law to meddle with in these parts,” Jack said. “So I find the man I wish to bargain with, employ the hourglass, and we'll find our way to an agreement.”  
  
Gibbs nodded. “That's what I understood.”  
  
Jack tilted his head with a hoist of his brows and said, “All right, mate. Let's find out. And keep your weapons close at hand, eh?”  
  
They entered the temple, winding their way in the dark between the columns and rice paper screens. Inside, a motley assortment of men, miscreants of all kinds - petty thieves, hardened criminals, sometime pirates and Sao Feng himself - lounged in various states of dress around low tables, drinking strong brews. Two shirtless men fought in the corner, with _dao_ , the clang of their curved swords almost lost in the uproar of the men shouting, drinking and cheering on the fighters. Sao Feng watched from a distance, his hands clasped behind his back. He was flanked on the right by a beautiful woman whose face was turned away from Jack, but who had a crown of shining black hair piled atop her head, and an attractive silver robe. On the left was his associate, En Zhang, a man slightly younger than Jack, with skin tanned from months at sea, a dark tail of hair at his nape, and a quick, astute eye. It was En that spotted Jack and Gibbs, tapping Sao Feng on the elbow and pointing in their direction.  
  
When Sao Feng turned, the girl turned, too; it was Mei Ling, Jack saw, and she looked at the floor a second after the smile had leapt to her eyes. Sao Feng indicated a wall with a thrust of his head; she bowed her head and moved toward it.  
  
Sao Feng and En took careful steps toward Jack and Gibbs; Gibbs made as if to move ahead, but Jack stopped him with a palm across the chest. “Let him come to us,” Jack said.  
  
The four men faced each other. Sao Feng bowed slightly, his hands pressed together, his eyes remaining fixed, warily, on Jack. “Jack Sparrow,” he said. “Grown tired of Singapore's soil again so quickly?”  
  
“I've not come to join up,” Jack said, quickly withdrawing the hourglass from his satchel. He held it up. “I've come for something else.”  
  
The hourglass was tiny, brass-framed, the size of his thumb. The sand inside was black, though it seemed to glitter in the lantern light, like a night sky lit with stars. Sao Feng immediately reached out and grabbed Jack's wrist. “Do not turn it,” he said.  
  
“Why not?” Jack smiled. “I thought the man was famous for his fair agreements. You've got something I want. And _I_ 've got something _you_ want.”  
  
Sao Feng glared at Jack murderously. “This is a well-kept secret in Singapore. I don't know how you learned of it, but I ought to cut your throat for thinking to force me into some trick of a bargain...”  
  
“Three men can keep a secret, two being dead,” Gibbs said from next to Jack, his hand falling to his sword. “And drunk men can't keep very many secrets at all.”  
  
Sao Feng regarded Jack and Gibbs with suspicion, his hand still holding Jack's wrist still. “What is it you want?”  
  
“A ship.”  
  
Sao Feng grinned, menacingly. “And what is it you think to trade for such a ship?”  
  
“A treasure,” Jack said coolly. “One I've learned of quite recently. I've some of it already, but I can't get the rest without a ship, savvy?”  
  
Sao Feng peered at him, tilting his head. “A treasure, you say?”  
  
“Big, _big_ treasure, my friend,” Jack said, and in his other hand withdrew the pearl necklace from his satchel. The eyes of the two other men went to it, captivated. Jack dangled it in front of them. “Quite valuable, and only the beginning.”  
  
“I am intrigued,” Sao Feng said, loosening his painful grip on Jack's wrist.  
  
“How about it, Feng?” Jack said, pulling his lips back into a smile. “Let's make a deal.”  
  
He turned the hourglass, and the temple around them shimmered and dissolved into smoke.  
  
  
  
  
  
Jack was dizzy, and he swayed on his feet, struggling to remain upright as the world pitched around him like the _Pearl_ on high seas. When the room became brighter, it was a different room; or rather, the same room, but different.  
  
The temple was deserted, and no longer in disrepair. Its columns were whole, its floor tiles intact and bare. It was also dark, save for the light of several candles which spilled from a corner to Jack's right. He turned, seeing Sao Feng move out of the corner of his eye. Gibbs, En Zhang, Mei Ling and the others were all gone.  
  
In the corner sat an old man before a low altar. He was darker skinned than Sao Feng, a hue that spoke to Jack of red clay or river mud. From his lips spilled a long, white moustache, and from his chin a beard of equal length. He nodded in response to Sao Feng's deep, graceful bow. Jack struggled to follow suit, managing a sort of lopsided dip in the man's general direction.  
  
“Sao Feng,” said the old man without looking up, and Jack was already dismayed that the two seemed to know each other. “Jack Sparrow,” he said, then, and Jack looked up in surprise.  
  
“How did you...”  
  
“Do not ask useless questions, Jack Sparrow,” Sao Feng said sharply, kneeling a few feet from the old man.  
  
Jack sauntered over, casting his eye about the temple as he did so. Beyond the temple walls, a bamboo forest covered great reaching mountains, bathed in mist and sunlight; it was not the same temple at all. The abandoned temple of the pirates only seemed to be an imitation of this one.   
  
He regarded the old man, whose bald head was still bowed, and Sao Feng, who stared at Jack impatiently. Jack turned to the old man.  
  
“Well, since you seem to know who _I_ am, it's only fair I should know you, seems to me.” Jack sat by wrapping one leg around the other. “Have you got a name, mate?”  
  
The man gave a gentle, sideways nod of his head. “I have many names.”  
  
Jack was unimpressed. A black brow shot upwards. “One'll do.”  
  
“Very well,” nodded the man. “One, it is.”  
  
Jack regarded him, then prompted: “Which is...?”  
  
“One.”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
Another patient nod. “That is a name of mine. One.”  
  
“But what is it?”  
  
The same nod. “One.”  
  
Jack stared, dumbfounded. “Am I missing something important?”  
  
The old man paused thoughtfully before replying, “You must be, as you said, missing something important... or you would not be here. You come to strike a bargain for whatever it is you seek.”  
  
Jack cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact... yes... erm... whoever you are. I want a ship. Mine was taken from me in a most... egregious... act of injustice. If that counts for anything.”  
  
  
“It should not,” said Sao Feng, still looking perturbed. “State your terms.”  
  
Jack eyed him. “Since you've asked so politely, I suppose we'll manage to forego the pleasantries and come to the heart of the matter.”  
  
Sao Feng glared. “If you _can_.”  
  
After another quick cough to clear his throat, Jack reached into his satchel and withdrew the pearls. “The terms are as follows. I wish to be lent a ship. In said ship, I shall pursue a certain treasure, the monumental value of which these here pearls are only the merest indicator. “ He paused, noting the greedy light in Sao Feng's eyes, though his face remained grim and impassive. “In return for the lending of the vessel I shall bring back such a portion of the treasure as is due payment for the ship.”  
  
Sao Feng narrowed his eyes. “How much?”  
  
Jack thought a moment. It really didn't matter how much of the treasure he promised to Sao Feng. The treasure was entirely imaginary. And as it didn't exist, Jack reckoned that a large percentage of nothing was still nothing, after all, and he could promise Sao Feng anything he liked. “Half.” If he were too generous, it would arouse suspicion.  
  
Sao Feng laughed. “You insult me. Only half, when I am supplying this voyage with only a trinket to guarantee its success?”  
  
Jack smiled, pretending contrition. It was going exactly as he thought. “Two-thirds. And I get to keep the ship after I deliver it.”  
  
Sao Feng grinned. “If you keep one of my ships, that is worth a treasure in itself...” He brushed his beard with his thumb. “Tell me... what exactly does this _treasure_ consist of?”  
  
“Hmm, let me see if I remember it as it was told to me... she was a trading vessel that wrecked on rocks in a storm.” Jack had neglected to imagine the imaginary treasure in specific detail. He tried to think of anything Sao Feng would like, would consider rare and valuable. “Silver. Lots of it. More than you could spend in a year.” He watched as Sao Feng's eyes widened, and he licked his lips. Excellent. “Also... casks of very fine Jamaican rum.” Sao Feng still stared, waiting for him to go on. It wasn't enough... he had to appeal to the man's emotions, his sensibilities... he was a superstitious sort, if Jack remembered properly. “And also something truly rare and precious. The tusk of a white elephant.” He paused to let that sink in. “Also pelts of the most beautiful, exotic animals you've ever seen... it's extraordinary. It would make you a king.” Jack bit his tongue, having gotten ahead of himself. “ _Half_ of it would make you a king.”  
  
“Two-thirds,” Sao Feng said, his eyes bright. He turned to the old man, who had remained quiet the entire time. “Well? Is it fair?”  
  
There was a silence before the old man, who Jack thought of as One, spoke. Jack and Sao Feng both unconsciously leaned in his direction, listening intently. “Jack Sparrow, is the ship your only condition?”  
  
Jack nodded casually, wanting it to seem like an afterthought as he then said: “Oh - well, only a small thing.”  
  
Sao Feng's head whipped toward him. “What? You dare to ask something _else_?”  
  
Jack bared his teeth in a small grin. “A trifle, really. Suppose I encounter difficulties. Sink, burn, die - something of the kind - and hence am delayed in the return of said treasure. Certain friends of mine in Singapore might be employed as leverage to force my return. I wish to prevent that.”  
  
Sao Feng grinned in reply. “Ah... Madam Chao.”  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes, tilting his head in a small acknowledgment. “Quite so. As a further condition of the bargain, no friend of mine in Singapore is to be threatened or harmed in any way on my behalf. No matter how long it takes.”  
  
Sao Feng narrowed his eyes, too. “That is a very large condition. I have no guarantee you will return.”  
  
Jack nodded toward the pearls. “You'll have those.” He turned his eyes to the old man. “Isn't it fair? The protection of my friend - or friends - in return for the treasure.”  
  
“The bargain is fair,” said One. “It would be enforced by the Powers. He would be unable to harm your friends in your absence.”  
  
“I want it all,” Sao Feng then said. Jack's head snapped around to look at him in feigned shock. One lifted his eyes, the irises black and glinting.  
  
“You can't have it _all_ ,” Jack pretended to protest, though this was what he'd intended to promise all along.   
  
“If your friends are completely protected from me by the Powers, I want everything,” Sao Feng said, believing he was twisting Jack's desperation cruelly into profit.  
  
Jack pretended dismay, dropping his head as he hid a smile. “Very well. All of it... with no time limit... and my friends can never be touched.” Jack knew he never planned to deliver any treasure at all - his plans for the ship were quite different - but just in case fortune smiled on him, he added, “The treasure's yours, save for those there pearls.”  
  
Sao Feng nodded. “Agreed.”  
  
They looked at One, who regarded Jack with interest. _Does he know I'm lying_? Jack thought with sudden panic. The man did seem to know everything. “You shall deliver this treasure, Jack Sparrow,” said the old man.  
  
Jack smiled arrogantly, thinking, _Fools_. “Sure I will.”  
  
One smiled an even more knowing smile. Jack wondered who exactly knew the truth... the old man spoke again. “Keep the hourglass for now, Jack Sparrow; I shall be seeing you in the future. But on your third visit, you must leave it behind. That is all the assistance one man is allowed by the Powers.”  
  
Jack nodded, pocketing the hourglass which had somehow come to rest between him and Sao Feng on the temple floor. Sao Feng picked up the pearls; pocketed them. Jack watched the strand disappear amid the folds of Sao Feng's tunic, realizing with a regretful pang that he would likely never see them again. He would have to draw his luck from elsewhere.  
  
“Seal the bargain,” Sao Feng said, extending a scarred, strong hand to Jack. Jack took it.  
  
The smoke and candles blurred and faded, and Jack found himself back in Singapore, the noise of the pirates echoing in his ears. He stood across from Sao Feng, and they were in the exact position they had been when Jack had turned the hourglass. Gibbs and En stood to their sides, looking on expectantly.  
  
“Well?” said Gibbs. “Are ye going to make a deal or not?”  
  
Jack peered at him. “How long have I been gone?”  
  
Sao Feng whispered to him, “In their eyes, we have never left. Say no more.” Then he nodded to En Zhang to follow him, and the two men turned to walk away.  
  
“I say, Jack,” said Gibbs, looking confused. “What's occurred? Is it done?”  
  
Jack grinned, clapping his hand in the center of Gibbs' back as he surveyed the chaotic room with pleasure. “Pack your trunk, Chief Mate Gibbs. We sail with the tide in a day's time.”  
  
* * *  
  
Two mornings later, Jack stood on the deck of the _Magic Dragon_ , taking his last look at Singapore. He turned to the docks; in his mind, he saw himself leading a small, thin girl by the hand.   
  
That girl had been left behind forever, he thought ruefully, as all children eventually are. The previous evening he'd lain with his head on her thigh as she wound her fingers through his tangled hair. Quin sat adding her sums across the room, paying them little mind. When Jack had told Quin of his departure, she'd shrugged with a mysterious smile, as though she'd always expected him to go.  
  
Easter - a sort of serving girl who'd taken a liking to him, Jack explained to Elizabeth, promising to elaborate later - had offered to braid his hair in the traditional way of her people. “I'd forgotten I'd ever learned this,” she said with wonder as she nimbly wove thin strands together into a braid the width of a leaf stem. Jack lounged with his head on her robed knee, knowing she enjoyed the feeling of him resting upon her, willing to cede her the small pleasure. When she was finished, she tied the end with several short pieces of silk thread of various colors; a rainbow in miniature against the pitch-black night of his hair.  
  
She was that, in his thoughts; light, color, hope in the darkness. He would leave that braid even when the others had come loose, tending it himself as his hair grew. That night Quin had retired early, promising to be awake to see Jack off on the morrow. Jack had felt uneasy at being left alone with Easter, who had not taken her eyes off of him all evening. He rose from where he knelt, planning on going to bed, himself. “Good night, Little One,” he said in the island's tongue.  
  
Easter rose, too, approaching him anxiously. He eyed her warily, half-expecting her to throw her arms around him and smother him with a youthfully passionate kiss; instead she met his eyes boldly, and said in English, “See you in the morning, Sparrow.”  
  
He smiled, thinking he would be gone by the time she awoke.  
  
En Zhang called shortly after dawn, to lead Jack to the ship; Jack bent chivalrously and kissed Queenie's hand, the only thanks necessary. Peng Lao, the messenger boy, was there too, and Jack gave him a short bow. Jack had entered the garden with En Zhang when he heard light pounding footsteps behind him. He turned to see Easter, her hair messily pinned, her leaf-green robe hastily tied. Her eyes were puffy with sleep. Yet she was even more beautiful in the morning sunlight in the garden, seeming a part of it. She ran up to him and stopped short, her eyes wide, as though unsure what to say.  
  
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Jack glanced over his shoulder at En Zhang, who was staring raptly at the young girl, paying no mind to Jack. Jack relented. He leaned forward and caught up Easter in a firm embrace, pressing his lips beneath her ear to say, “Be wise, now... my little stowaway.”  
  
She clasped him tight, breathing hard, as she had years before when he'd pulled her from a hiding place. He released her while he still possessed the will, turning to head down the garden path. He didn't miss the way En Zhang's mouth stood open, and when Jack glanced back Easter was blushing, too, her eyes suddenly finding the ground. “Lead the way,” Jack said to the usually quick, fierce En Zhang, who looked at him suddenly, as startled as if he'd been dropped to the dirt from fifty feet above.  
  
“Cap'n, are ye with us?” said Gibbs, and Jack turned to him on the deck with likely as much surprise as En had turned to him. Jack was better at hiding it, though he saw Gibbs' eyes go to the braid Jack was sliding thoughtfully between his right forefinger and thumb, and the bottle of rum in his left. Gibbs surmised who'd done the braid. He met Jack's eyes. “Are we ready to make sail, or... shall I have someone check the galley for stowaways?”  
  
Would she have come with him, if he'd asked, Jack wondered, feeling uncharacteristically sentimental as he imagined a woman beside him, the breeze lifting her hair in the sunlight. Jack chuckled, his gaze sweeping the deck. “I do suppose she's a little too big to hide in the soup pot.”  
  
Gibbs nodded, taking a swig from his own canteen. “Aye.”  
  
Jack glanced around again, noting with a little unease the haphazard nature of the only crew they'd been able to raise for a distant sail in two days' time. They were either too young or too old, as a rule, but it _was_ a crew, and it _was_ a ship, and they were sailing. Today.  
  
“Make us ready to sail, Master Gibbs,” Jack said, as a particularly ancient member of their crew ambled past, leaning on a bamboo shaft for a cane. He added in an undertone, “Tout-suite, while our boatswain's still with us.”  
  
Gibbs turned his eyes to the elderly man, shrugging his shoulders and extending his canteen toward Jack in a mock toast. “Ah, Jack, you need not worry. Ye know what they say: Old pirates never die...”  
  
“...They only smell that way,” Jack finished with a grin, meeting Gibbs' bottle with his own.  
  
When they sailed, the emerald waters parted before them, but not like a woman's thighs, as Jack had imagined; no, like the vee between branches, new green stems and leaves, growing and stretching and reaching for sunlight. 


	3. Chapter 3

7\. Tree, Part Three  
  
  
Jack turned back toward Elizabeth from where he'd been staring out the window, not really seeing what was in front of him. He was smiling, but the smile faded as he took in her expression. Her face was composed - as expected - but her eyes held fear. The story had ended; they now had to face the world outside of it.  
  
“That was one of the happier tales,” Jack said, knitting his brows in dismay.   
  
“Was it?” she said, and he realized she hadn't heard the ugliest parts yet. Would she still want to hear them, then... she looked as though she wanted to ask something, and he was afraid she'd ask something about Easter that he couldn't explain to her, that he couldn't even explain to himself. Instead she said, “Whatever happened to that little hourglass of yours? I've never seen it.”  
  
Jack looked down briefly, with a resigned sigh. “I must have lost it. Can't remember when, only that I haven't got it any more.” He looked up, smiling regretfully. “Wish you could have seen it, too, because it sparkled like silver...”  
  
“Jack...” she began, and he was suddenly afraid, too, of what she was about to say or ask.  
  
“Miss Swann, the governor's asked for you,” said the guard, who had fortuitously re-entered the corridor, standing with a very stiff back, his eyes averted from the two of them... deliberately, it seemed to Jack.   
  
“I'll be along in a moment, thank you,” she said brusquely to him, and he disappeared with a nod.   
  
“ _He_ has more sense than the two louts who brought me in,” Jack mused aloud, imagining an exchange between the governor and the guard: _Did you see anything untoward between my daughter and that pirate?_ A resolute lift of the chin: _See? No, sir.  
  
_ “Who were they?” she asked.  
  
“I've met them before. Here. On the docks. Fools, both of them.”  
  
Elizabeth thought, remembering. “Oh - you mean... what's his name.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “Murtogg. And the other one.”  
  
“Yes. Them.”  
  
Elizabeth glanced after the guard before she said, “Listen, I've got to go. I'll find a way to come down tomorrow.”  
  
“Having gotten the uniforms, I hope,” Jack said, trying to smile. “You do realize that if your father can't talk me out of here, and he can't arrange a pardon, they'll schedule a hanging.”  
  
There was a determined light in her warm eyes as she said, “I shall see you tomorrow.”  
  
A slight firming of the jaw, a last look at him from head to toe, and she was gone.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
In the coach, her father talked. Endlessly. She listened at first, but he seemed to need to prattle interminably about how delicate the political situation was and how their very livelihoods depended on his position and that he couldn't risk upsetting that, even for Jack Sparrow, especially for Jack Sparrow who had caused no end of trouble, even she had to acknowledge that, and he was so very sorry and it was simply ghastly but out of his control, and he hoped she could forget such ugly things and think about her wedding instead.  
  
She was not thinking about her wedding; she was thinking about how to get hold of two uniforms without endangering herself or arousing suspicion, and it was quite a challenge. Would she steal into the barracks, in the dead of night, risking almost certain capture? No. She concluded that, risky as it seemed, removing them from live men was probably easier than attempting to locate one when it was not attached to its owner. And for such a thing, she'd surely need help.  
  
“...So you do understand, don't you, my dear?” her father was saying.  
  
“Yes, of course,” she responded, mentally making a list of possible allies. Will was out; Jack had asked that he not be involved, and she reluctantly surmised he was probably right about his involvement boding ill. Too many questions, there. Starting with what Jack was doing down the road from the governor's manor in the first place.  
  
Bootstrap? She tried to think how he might be of use... two armed soldiers, a very dangerous endeavor, one that would require forethought, cunning, trickery, and furthermore, a surprise attack, one the soldiers must never see coming... she came to the conclusion that what she _needed_ , more than anything, was a _woman_. A woman with a less recognizable face than her own, a woman she could trust. A friend. Unfortunately, she had none. She'd had few since they came to Port Royal, and none since her unplanned trip with the then-cursed _Black Pearl_.   
  
She saw the coach was passing the end of the main street that led through town, the street that held the smithy and the tailor's and bakery. She thought of discarding Jack's advice and her own misgivings and going to ask Will for his help, but he'd been so testy about the subject of Jack since their return, and not without good reason... she'd done everything possible to assuage his concern that Jack had somehow managed to steal her heart away from him, master thief that he was...  
  
At the word “thief,” Elizabeth had an idea. “Stop the coach,” she told her father. “Stop the coach! I'm getting out.”  
  
“What?” her father said, perplexed. “What do you mean? We're in the middle of town.”  
  
“Stop the coach! There's an urgent errand I've just remembered.”  
  
Her father called to the driver and the coach rattled to a stop. Elizabeth leapt out without waiting to be helped down. A plan was forming itself in her mind, quickly, the pieces falling into place...  
  
“Elizabeth! Where do you think you're going?”  
  
“To the baker's,” she called back, noticing the door handle jiggled loosely in its socket. “And tell Danks someone should repair this door. The handle's always coming loose. No need to wait for me - I shall walk.”  
  
She closed it before her father could protest further, and turned to walk up the road toward the bakery as fast as her feet could carry her. She did not turn back to see the coach pull away and drive on up the road.  
  
When she opened the door to the bakery, a delicious combination of sweet aromas assailed her nostrils, and her stomach rumbled... she hadn't eaten breakfast, she remembered. Her appetite seemed to have returned.  
  
A young woman emerged from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. Anita St. John had a round face with florid cheeks, large, honest eyes and blonde curls spilling every which way from beneath her neat white cap. She looked up and saw her customer, and stopped a few feet from the counter, staring a moment before recovering her composure with a smile.  
  
“Why, Miss Swann!” she said in a warm, sugary voice. “No need to come all the way here yourself! We've got everything all arranged for Thursday. The buttercream frosting shall only last so long in this heat, but I assure you, the cake shall be so delicious that it will be served to the last crumb.”  
  
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, casting her eyes over the assortment of pastries on display, her mouth watering. “Actually... I've not come about the wedding.”  
  
“Oh? How may I help you, then, Miss?”   
  
“Please, Anita,” Elizabeth said, lowering her voice. “I do recall a time when we spoke as friends.”  
  
Anita blinked, slowly, nodding. “Certainly, and it's been a while since our chats, but... do speak as freely as you see fit, Miss... er, Elizabeth, I suppose.” She smiled, nervously, and Elizabeth smiled back.  
  
“You do know they say you're most fearsome armed with a pot,” Elizabeth said.  
  
Anita laughed aloud, the sound hearty even in her light, feminine voice. “Oh, that! Greatly exaggerated. The rumors make it sound as if I bashed his head in and left him a bloody mess, all for stealing a loaf of bread...” Her voice trailed off, and Elizabeth lifted a brow. That was, in fact, exactly what the rumors said.   
  
“And in truth?”  
  
“He only bled a _little_ ,” Anita said, lowering her eyes, but a proud smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Elizabeth saw it. She took two steps closer to the counter and took a breath.  
  
“Anita... I've a very strange request, and all I ask is that you listen, as a lady, and as a friend, if ever you considered me such.”  
  
Anita's eyes came up. Elizabeth hesitated, meeting her gaze. She was taking an enormous risk in confiding in a near-stranger about something this delicate, and yet there was something about Anita that just _inspired_ trust. She was like Will, that way. Her fair brows curved up, and she waited, earnestly, for Elizabeth to speak.  
  
“A friend of mine's got into some trouble,” Elizabeth said quietly.  
  
Anita's lips dropped open. “Not your betrothed? I've forgotten his name...”  
  
“No. Not him. Another friend, and I can't elaborate on the circumstances, but... there's something I must do, and I need help. A _woman_ 's help.”  
  
Anita smiled, mysteriously, beginning to twirl the strings of her apron between her fingers. Elizabeth watched, and was suddenly reminded no longer of Will's transparent trustworthiness, but of Jack's skilled sleights-of-hand.   
  
Elizabeth forced herself to meet the other woman's eyes. “It's a most improper thing, and if you cannot help me, all I ask is that you not breathe a word of it to anyone.”  
  
“No need to speak to _me_ of propriety, Miss Swann... er, Elizabeth,” Anita said, coming up close on her side of the counter. “Why, you've quite piqued my curiosity, dear. Go on?”  
  
Elizabeth steeled her nerve, took another deep, steadying breath, and charged ahead.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Elizabeth and Anita stood in the twilight, in the shadow of a shop along the road that led from the main part of town to the cane storehouses by the docks. Elizabeth wore her plainest dress, a high-necked cream muslin; Anita her finest, a modest gray silk trimmed with lace. Both hid their faces with fans, eyes darting left and right over the top, needle-sharp, as they scanned the crowd for prey.  
  
Anita had called at the house just after supper, as they'd arranged. Elizabeth had exclaimed, “Oh, there was no need to come all the way out here to ask if I preferred buttercream or lemon frosting,” and then slipped outside, as if to talk it over.   
  
“I'll be back in an hour or two, Papa,” Elizabeth had then said upon re-entering.   
  
“What?” the governor had said, regarding her with puzzlement over his brandy. “But it's almost dark, my dear, you surely can't be out - “  
  
“We're to meet Will in town for a bit of a stroll,” Elizabeth said airily, already tying her bonnet. “Don't worry, Anita and I shall look after one another. It's only as far as town, and not dark yet, and then Will shall be with us. Even if you doubt my own ability to defend myself, surely you don't doubt _his_?”  
  
The governor frowned. “Well, of course not. It's just hardly proper to be-“  
  
Elizabeth waved her hand as she sauntered to the door. “Don't worry. Please. Will shall escort me back in one piece.”  
  
Then she'd dashed out, and she and Anita had made their way into town as quickly as possible.  
  
Elizabeth sighed as they waited, seeing fewer soldiers along the road than she'd imagined. “You got the sack?”  
  
Anita nodded, not turning her eyes from the passers-by. “Small iron kettle inside, and no one the wiser. The pastry seller carrying a flour sack - not exactly out of the ordinary. You've hidden the rum in the storehouse, too?”  
  
Elizabeth nodded back, not looking at her. “One of the last bottles in the cellar. I wonder if it'll be missed.”  
  
“Only time will tell.”  
  
Elizabeth caught sight of red in the distance, and lay a hand on Anita's lace-clad arm. “Are you certain you're up to this?”  
  
Anita smiled behind her fan. “As I said before, I've no great love for soldiers. If a eclair is tuppence, they've only got a penny. And they expect you to fawn over them while they cheat you of your wares. And never mind what it's like in Charleston. No gentlemen, they.”  
  
Elizabeth briefly thought of James, wherever he might be. “Not all. There _are_ gentlemen among them... and others, too.”   
  
Anita sighed. “I wish I'd a man like yours, Elizabeth. Tell me, is he handsome?”  
  
She smiled. “Yes.”  
  
Anita shook her head. “I fear I've got it something awful for a man I see every day in the bakery. He's handsome too, and strong... and the worst part is, I don't even know his name...”  
  
“These things have a way of working themselves out, you know,” Elizabeth said by way of comfort. As the phalanx of soldiers drew closer, Elizabeth tensed. “I've still nothing to offer you in exchange for your help. You're taking a great risk on my behalf.”  
  
“You've offered me your friendship,” Anita said, leaning forward to follow Elizabeth's gaze. “Governor's daughter or not, am I to take it lightly?”  
  
Elizabeth did not answer, but stared at the approaching group, beginning to sort through them one by one. “Remember,” she said to Anita, “do not call me by name once we're with them. And keep your fan raised high, and your cap pulled low.”  
  
The group of soldiers had spread out, and Elizabeth focused her eyes on each individually to select their marks. In the lead was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with a smile and easy laugh. She noticed he held his rifle tightly across his torso. _Too big._ Another smaller man followed, thin, young and nervous looking. He, too, held his rifle at attention, glancing about him as he walked. _Too alert_.   
  
A succession of unsuitable candidates followed. Three who stayed so close they might have been brothers. Another, short and so fat his uniform was stretched within an inch of splitting open. _Damn_. For this Elizabeth needed a pair of them, the more vacuous the better. Another two passed, but wore the navy jackets of officers. _Damn_.  
  
The group was wearing thin, and it was almost full dark. They wouldn't get another chance at it. Elizabeth despaired.  
  
Just then, two more young men wandered along at a distance from the rest, at a meandering pace that took them in a curving path between the gutters on both sides of the road. One, his face upturned, appeared to be birdwatching - though the sky was quite empty of fowl. His companion stared down, raptly examining something sticky upon his index finger that he'd found inside his ear.   
  
Elizabeth smiled. _Perfect_. As they came closer to where the two women waited, Elizabeth realized with a jolt that she recognized them, too. Murtogg and Mullroy. “Anita,” she said, and inclined her head sharply, once. _Them_.  
  
Anita saw them and glanced at Elizabeth with a small smile. “Ready?”  
  
A curt nod from Elizabeth, and the two of them rushed from the shadows, approaching the soldiers from behind.  
  
“Oh, help, sirs!” Anita cried, catching the elbow of Murtogg.  
  
“Please!” whimpered Elizabeth, tugging at the jacket of Mullroy. “It's simply awful!”  
  
The men turned, away from their already-distant companions, toward the women in distress.  
  
  
* * *  
  
Will frowned in the entryway of the governor's house. “What do you mean, she's not here?”  
  
Danks shrugged indifferently. He hadn't quite learned the art of butlering; not that he wanted to, considering what had happened to the Swanns' last butler. He answered the door and sometimes questions - but only occasionally.  
  
“Well, where is she?” Will demanded.  
  
“She's gone out, sir,” Danks replied in a surly monotone.   
  
“Out? At this hour?”  
  
“Why, William!” The governor stood on the landing of the staircase, peering down. “What on earth are you doing _here_?”  
  
Will was puzzled. “What am _I_ doing here? What's _she_ doing, not here?”  
  
“Meeting you, she said.”  
  
“Meeting _me_?”  
  
The governor's brows furrowed as he took in the young man's confused expression. “Oh, my. Seems we've a mix-up. She went into town looking for you, with Miss St. John. Said you were to have an evening stroll.”  
  
“We were,” Will said, remaining calm. “And I was to meet her _here_. And who's... Miss St. John?”  
  
“Oh, dear me,” said the governor, descending the steps. “Do come into the parlor. How dreadful.”  
  
  
* * *  
  
“Oh, it's positively _dreadful_!” cried Anita, pulling her soldier into the dark of the cane storehouse. “Come and see!”  
  
“But... what is it?” stammered the one guided by Elizabeth as they entered.  
  
“A creature!” cried Anita in a shrill voice.  
  
“A _winged_ creature,” Elizabeth added.  
  
“With fangs!”  
  
“ _Great_ , long fangs!”  
  
“Mercy me,” said Mullroy, scratching his head as he glanced around the vast, dark warehouse. “And it's not a bat?”  
  
“Oh, _much_ larger than a bat!” Anita said.  
  
“ _Much_ larger,” Elizabeth agreed.  
  
Murtogg lowered his rifle, clutching it close. “Oi... don't like the sound of _that_ at all.”  
  
“Went in here, you say?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth from behind her fan. “We followed it in. It went right up... there.” She pointed to a corner where, earlier in the afternoon, she and Anita had carefully stacked barrels and crates into a climbable tower.   
  
The two soldiers stared up in wonder, mouths open far enough to admit a horde of flies.  
  
Anita and Elizabeth exchanged a knowing glance.  
  
“You must go after it,” Anita said to Murtogg, clasping his elbow imploringly. “You climb up and flush it out, and _he'll_ shoot it.”  
  
“Oh, no,” said Murtogg, turning around to face his companion. “I'm not doing the flushing. _You_ do the flushing.”  
  
“You're a much better flusher.”  
  
“Oh, now don't be modest.”  
  
“Please,” Elizabeth said, ushering Murtogg toward the tower of crates. “Go and scare it out, before it comes after us!”  
  
“With its talons, and great hairy hide!” Anita echoed.  
  
Murtogg shuddered; then, slowly, he began to march toward the barrels. Anita and Elizabeth eyed one another over their fans. He put a shoe up on the lowest barrel, only to have the end of his rifle collide with his knee. Elizabeth held her breath. The moment of truth...  
  
Sure enough, as predicted, Murtogg stepped down and lifted the strap over his head, setting the rifle on its end by the barrels. “Now you be ready to shoot,” Murtogg said over his shoulder to Mullroy, who was measuring out powder and shot. “I don't fancy having me eyes pecked out.”  
  
“I'm ready,” Mullroy assured him, steadying his aim in the direction of the high ceiling.  
  
“And don't shoot _me_!”  
  
“I ain't never shot you!”  
  
“Not yet,” Murtogg said as he climbed carefully up five feet, then ten. “But there was that time...”  
  
Elizabeth glided on silent feet over to where Murtogg's rifle stood.  
  
Anita drew Mullroy's attention with a staged gasp, pointing toward the roof. “Oh, my! There it is! It's horrid!”  
  
“Where? Where is it?” Mullroy said, swinging his gun this way and that.  
  
Elizabeth, ten feet away, wrapped her fingers around the discarded gun's barrel and butt, quietly, carefully lifting it from the ground and into her arms.  
  
“Up there!” cried Anita. “Up there! Oh, merciful heavens!”  
  
“I can't see _anything_!” said Murtogg, stalled in his ascent, flattened against the crates with arms and legs outstretched. “Help!”  
  
Elizabeth moved toward Mullroy as Anita moved away, just as smoothly. The men's attention was on the barrels, the ceiling, everywhere but on Elizabeth, who was approaching the man from behind.  
  
This was the most dangerous part. She'd had to put down her fan to hold the gun, which she held flat in her hands as she crept toward him. If he turned, if he saw her coming, saw her face, it would all be over...  
  
Elizabeth watched him intently, as though mentally commanding him not to turn around. She gripped the long gun tightly, feeling its weight in her hands, through both her arms. And then, with a sudden, fierce strength, she raised her arms and twisted her torso with all her might, and brought the butt of the gun _smack_ into the back of Mullroy's head. He swayed, his eyes crossing, and then fell, crumpling onto the dirt floor with a dull thud.  
  
Elizabeth exhaled, feeling slightly giddy.  
  
“What was that?” Murtogg said from his spot on the barrels. Elizabeth bent to make sure Mullroy was really out, while Anita slipped behind the crates to fetch her sack. “Hello? Ladies?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Mullroy, mate? Are you still aiming?”  
  
Elizabeth dragged Mullroy's supine form slowly by the arms, just a few feet into the shadows. She looked beneath his eyelids to see blank pupils. He was out cold.  
  
“I'm coming down!” Murtogg called, and began to slowly inch his way downward, limbs bent awkwardly out, like a crab. Elizabeth glanced over to see Anita peering out from the shadows, winding the end of the flour sack between her hands. By the time Murtogg had reached the floor, turning around in puzzlement at finding himself alone, Anita was swinging the sack over her head, her arms strong from hours of kneading. She swung it round and round like a flail, faster and faster.  
  
In a second's time, she leapt out. It swung round and struck him right on the temple.  
  
“Ow!” he yelled, clutching his head. “What was that for?”  
  
“Harder,” Elizabeth whispered, preparing to leave the prostrate Mullroy to go and lend assistance if necessary.  
  
Anita swung the flour sack again, and another brutal _clang_ rang out in the deserted storehouse. “Ow-w-w!” he cried, staggering.  
  
“Get him down!” Elizabeth nearly shrieked.  
  
“I'm _trying_! He's thick-skulled!” Anita hissed back.  
  
He stumbled in Elizabeth's direction, crying, “Help! Help me!” Elizabeth blocked his path, realizing that her fan was ten feet across the room and her face was plainly visible. He was moving toward her, arms outstretched. “Help!” A dull light came into his eyes as he got closer, and he held his head with one hand as he swayed on his feet. “Say... aren't you-“  
  
_Clangggggg_.  
  
He fell to the floor, his head at Elizabeth's feet. Anita stood behind him, iron pot in two hands, blonde curls bouncing back into place where they protruded from her cap. “Sorry,” she said. “Should have done that the first time.”  
  
“Not a moment too soon,” Elizabeth said, glancing about at their handiwork. “Quickly, now. They'll only be out a few minutes at most.”  
  
They began to undress the men, a task much easier said, considering the dead weight of their arms and legs. Elizabeth finished first, stuffing shoes, pungent stockings, breeches and coat into the flour sack. “Hurry,” she said to Anita, who was struggling with the coat.  
  
“I'm trying! It's not as if I've ever undressed a man before,” she protested, yanking at the buttons. “Have _you_?”  
  
Elizabeth was silent. _Not one wearing a uniform_ , she thought.  
  
Finally they finished, all items of clothing in the sack, leaving the two soldiers in their white undergarments next to each other on the floor. The two women paused, taking in the absurdity of it. Anita clutched the sack of clothing.  
  
“The rum,” Elizabeth said, extending her palm, and Anita turned to produce the bottle Elizabeth had hidden earlier from behind a crate. Elizabeth took it in her hands, eyeing the amber liquid with a mixture of distaste and regret. “Some would call this an awful waste,” she said, uncorking it.  
  
“What _is_ the point of this?” Anita said, as Elizabeth began to douse the unconscious Mullroy with the liquor.  
  
“The _point_ is, they'll smell so strongly of rum that when they wake and go sing tales of two brutal maidens who tricked them and stole their clothing, not a soul will believe them.” She turned and did the same to Murtogg, emptying the remaining half of the bottle over his neck and chest with a glance up at Anita. “Would you?”  
  
Anita acknowledged the plan's genius with a playful lift of her brows and the corner of her lips. Elizabeth left the empty bottle there on the floor, and shortly after, the two women were gone, walking quietly up the road.  
  
* * *  
  
By the time they climbed the steps to Elizabeth's front door in the dark, arm in arm, their tightly coiled nerves had erupted into brazen laughter more suited to tavern wenches than the proper girls they had been, that they would be again when the sun rose.  
  
“Oh, if you could have seen his face when-“  
  
The door opened suddenly. Elizabeth broke off midsentence, and Anita whirled and deftly stowed the flour sack behind a potted plant at the entrance.  
  
“Will,” Elizabeth said, pretending surprise, still giggling a little like a drunk. “Here you are!”  
  
“Yes, here I am,” he said, an angry undertone indicating he'd been waiting some time.  
  
“What are you doing _here_ ,” Elizabeth said, charging forward through the doorway as he stood aside. “I was looking for you in town! For our walk!”  
  
“You know very well I was to call here,” Will said, following her as she sailed toward the parlor. “What the devil possessed you to...” and then he caught sight of Anita, and turned back, staring. “Hello.”  
  
“Oh - hello,” Anita said, staring back, seemingly frozen at the threshold. “I... I know you.”  
  
“From across the road, yes,” Will said. “I always buy the -”  
  
“Hot cross buns!” Anita said with wide eyes, and they both laughed, while Elizabeth looked on in surprise.   
  
“Your buns are _delicious_ ,” Will said, a sense of awed wonder in his tone. Elizabeth frowned, her brows knitting as she turned her shoulders to stand between them.  
  
“Anita, meet my fiancè, William Turner,” Elizabeth said matter-of-factly, as Anita extended her hand. “Will, this is... Miss St. John.”  
  
“Anita, please,” she said, a giggle escaping her lips as Will bent chivalrously over her wrist.  
  
“I do apologize about our mistake,” Elizabeth said to Will, who seemed not to hear. “A pity about the walk, we shall have to go another time.”  
  
“Yes, right away,” Will said, seeming to stare into space.  
  
One of Elizabeth's brows shot up. “Will?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Excuse me while I call for the coach to take Anita back. It's grown quite dark.”  
  
“Oh, no need,” Will said, still not meeting her eyes. “I'm headed back that way to town. It's no trouble to escort her.”  
  
Elizabeth frowned, feeling suddenly like her father. “Kind of you, but it's not really proper for you to...”  
  
“Don't be silly,” Will said, slipping a light kiss over her forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow.”  
  
Elizabeth watched from behind the curtain at the parlor window as Will and Anita trudged amiably off down the drive and through the gate. They disappeared among the trees; only then did Elizabeth slip outside, gather the flour sack and take it upstairs to hide in her wardrobe. She peeked into her father's room once she'd finished. He snored softly, an empty brandy snifter by the bedside. It didn't belong there. The servants were few and overworked, of late... she entered and took the glass, carrying it out with her.  
  
She was exhausted and she swayed a little on her feet in the hall. She extended a hand to catch her balance when she realized; the glass wobbled in her palm, but stayed upright. No crash; no shredding into shards, no destruction. She took a deep breath and let it out, slowly, studying the glass that hadn't tumbled from her palm, the ending that hadn't happened.   
  
It was like a tiny tree, she thought, pinching the glass by its stem. There were the trees of her past in England that held fast to the ground with strong roots, anchored in the soil. There were the palm trees of Jamaica that bent in the hurricane wind, leaves whipped out behind them like a woman's hair, changing their shape to stay alive. She was like those trees, sometimes. And the brandy snifter she held was her own glass tree, at that moment; clear as her duty, and empty of her dreams.  
  
  



End file.
